


Plunge Step

by bonehandledknife (ladywinter), Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)



Series: The Mountains Are The Same [28]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Citadel Politics, Fanart Welcome, Gen, Podfic Welcome, Somewhat graphic description of injury, The war party finally arrives!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:06:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5163218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywinter/pseuds/bonehandledknife, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Plunge step: An aggressive step pattern for descending on hard or steep angle snow.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>"I have a shot on the shouty one," Gilly offered, Kukri behind her to reload her rifle. Vicks and Razor were a few levels up. </p><p>Capable made a strangled noise. </p><p>"Tempting, but maybe he's going to make demands," Furiosa mused. "I should at least try to talk to him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plunge Step

When the war party arrived, it was both less and more dramatic than feared. If the intel of hundred to hundred-fifty was correct in the first place, the warparty had apparently cannibalised itself on the way to the Citadel. Ace scratched his nose in thought, picking a bit at the peeling skin.

Judging by the amount of vehicles and the state of them, they had left behind everybody who couldn't keep up. Likely fought viciously amongst themselves for control, figuring that the Imperator in control when they took back the Citadel would be the new Immortan. They'd arrived with less than half the people they were reported to have set out with, and they looked exhausted and dehydrated. There was a lot of shouting, Imperator Noxious bellowing at warboys who didn't exactly seem eager to fight.

"Look like they ain't drank nothin' but their own piss in days," Ace said. Toast, who was to be Janey's backup and reloader, grimaced.

"I have a shot on the shouty one," Gilly offered, Kukri behind her to reload her rifle. Vicks and Razor were a few levels up.

Capable made a strangled noise.

"Tempting, but maybe he's going to make demands," Furiosa mused. "I should at least try to talk to him."

They watched the warboys head in the direction of the tower they were in, carrying ropes and grappling hooks, and Furiosa met Ace's eyes. He pulled his mouth at her but waited for her thoughts.

“We need to take care of this first.” She stated. “Alert the war boys in the tunnels.”

"Crew needs to be at their stations," he nodded pushing himself up from his crouch by the window. “Eyes on!”

There was a chorus of affirmations and the sound of safeties being clicked off.

 

* * *

 

Max registered that the incoming grappling hook didn't make the clank of metal on stone the others had made. Instead there was a meaty smack and a sharp gasp. He didn't hesitate, cut the rope before he even looked.

When the Imperator below had started sending Warboys directly to Furiosa's position, Ace had sent him Rachet to assist in holding them off. Most of the warboys's clay had worn off, but right now his face looked pale even underneath the remains of it, his eyes huge and a little panicky as they both looked at the large, ugly metal hook that was deeply embedded in the meat of his upper arm.

" _Fuck_ ," Max cursed, trying to shake off the stiff panic in his limbs. He could do this, he knew how to do this. He _did_.

Guiding Rachet down to sit on a ledge outside of the window's exposure, he noticed the warboy's legs were already unsteady. The wound looked ragged around the rusty metal, not bleeding as much as it could have. Max's hand snapped out to catch Rachet's wrist, preventing the warboy from pulling at the hook.

"Leave it."

"But I need to—"

"Get the boy to the Infirmary," Gilly said, coming over from the next window over with Kukri behind her. They must have redistributed to free her up. She took aim and shot out the window, ducked away again with a satisfied hum at a bullet well spent.

"Who's injured?" Furiosa called from the other side of the room, where she was using a small sniper window to pick off climbers, firing quick and not looking away. Ace was guarding the doorway behind her, where three of Lance's friends had tried to come in earlier under the pretense of an important message from the troops below. Their bodies were still outside the doorway, an unmistakable signal that neither side was pretending to be allies anymore.

"I'm fine, Boss!" Rachet managed, voice less than steady.

She darted her eyes over at his tone and Max saw her eyes widen and her jaw set. Her gaze flicked quickly over those stationed in the room.

"Go.”

"He needs— My post—" Max said, but she shook her head sharply, and he was already nodded in agreement. Rachet needed the infirmary now, and Max the only one who could bring him - the warboy wasn't large, certainly not compared to the others of the crew, but Kukri was the only other person who could be freed up, and not well or strong enough to haul Rachet down the steps. But Kukri could still take over Max’s position, cutting down the grappling hooks.

"Right."

He was halfway down there, Rachet's good arm draped around his shoulder and Max's arm across his back with his fingers curled into his belt, when the Organic Mechanic stepped in front of Max, and he flinched badly.

_Hey bloodbag, bloodbag, bloodbag! You doomed that boy bloodbag, I could'ave saved him, saved his arm even, but now he's gonna die!_

"Wha?!" Rachet grit out, jolted by the sudden stop, and Max made a gesture to shove away the Organic Mechanic with his free arm, momentarily forgetting that the man was not solid.

_All your fault, bloodbag! He's gonna rot slow and soft until the best he can hope for is my mercy in the night, but you ruined that too, din't ya bloodbag?_

He got them back into motion, mumbled a 'sorry'.

"'s okay," Rachet gasped. "Do we have to go? I mean you can pull it out, right? The Boss is right handy with wounds too. Pull out the hook, tie a bandage around it. There's really no need to bother those new mechanics, I bet they'll be annoyed to get such a piddly little injury…"

He kept babbling, voice shaky, as they got closer to the Blood Shed, and Max idly wondered who of them wanted to be here least. The Organic Mechanic was floating an arm's length in front of Max, screaming in his face, but focusing on Rachet's voice helped somewhat. Made it almost - almost - possible to walk past the ledges in the hallway without twitching.

Max hadn't been here, had avoided it at all cost, but from what he could see it had been cleaned and everything, the walls, the ceilings and floors, had been chalked white. It couldn't hide the scent of blood, some of it old, some of it fresh, and he clenched his hand hard around Rachet's belts.

"Will you stay?" Rachet asked under his breath as they approached the cutting room, and he was leaning more heavily on Max now, his knees thinking about buckling, "Crew don't leave each other alone h-here, and you're crew now, aren't you?"

 _Yes bloodbag, won't you stay?_ The Organic Mechanic laughed in his ear. _I'm sure we could find a cage for you somewhere, make you useful._

Max felt sweat soak through his clothes, his skin ice-cold and clammy, his muscles trying to seize up, his entire body screaming to drop the war boy and get out. Rachet’s voice was the only reason he’d kept moving.

He heard voices inside the cutting room, but halted just outside of the doorway, unable to bring himself to move further and Rachet silent but for his pained breathing.

_Haha, bloodbag can't go in! Nothing much left of you now, is there, bloodbag? Never did see any use for you apart from your blood. That must be while Furiosa keeps you around, in case she needs some more. Such a shame I can't take care of her anymore, but at least I get to watch, bloodbag. Isn't that a nice thought?_

"What am I hearing?" came a voice from inside, and then a short, black-robed figure came out of the cutting room, wiping down her arms with a rag. "Oh. Customers."

_Bloodbag! BLOODBAG! LOOK AT ME! HE'S GONNA DIE BLOODBAG AND IT'LL BE YOUR FAULT!_

Rachet had completely frozen, but Max barely noticed between his own panic and the Organic Mechanic screaming directly into his ear.

Feng, with her fine, wrinkled features exposed and her long steelgrey hair in a knot, tsked sharply.

"What are _you_ doing here, boy?' she said, hostile.

She approached, and Max instinctively tried to back up, but Rachet was slumping against him, and he couldn't move without risking dropping the warboy. Feng moved to in front of Max, just slightly to the side, and continued,

"This is _my_ domain, it always was. And you, disgusting defiler of bodies, going against everything I ever taught you, have _no_ place lingering!"  

It finally dawned with Max, through the layers of panic, that she wasn't speaking to him. That the Organic Mechanic had gone silent, watching her.

Feng took another step closer, got right up into the ghosts' face, and hissed through bared teeth, animalistic and far more terrifying than an old woman ought to have been, face somehow suddenly ancient, wild, and cavernous. And the ghost just…

 _faded_.

The silence was so abrupt Max felt his own knees buckle, and steered Rachet to lean against the doorway just in time.

Feng seemed to tower over them in her disapproval, “Who are you to bring things like _that_ , here.”

Max blinked.

“ _Well_?” The old woman looked at him searchingly and then snorted in disgust, “That Furiosa, giving refuge to all these things with fleas that don't even know it.”

"Thanks," he mumbled. She actually stilled for a moment, and some of her hostility seemed to… not fade, but redirect.

“Bah. What would _you_ know about it. Come on then."

Max only stared at her in blank confusion as she then flicked her gaze to the war boy, and then down to the hook. The old woman made a sound of disgust and hauled Rachet up by his other arm and then steered him onwards, towards a ledge.

Max followed as if on a string. Rachet had let out a small panicked sound and stared back at him helplessly and Max hadn't meant to stay, he _hadn't_ , but he couldn't let him think— he had to. Follow.

_"Crew don't leave each other alone here, and you're crew now, aren't you?"_

Max hadn’t let himself be a part of something for a very very long time. For years, and through a very many people requesting that he stay. That he’d help. It had always ended in death. As he forced his frozen knees to bend, to carry him, he wasn't so sure this wouldn't.

Feng yelled for her assistant, for hot water and her tools, and started probing at the wound site. Max found himself standing next to the ledge.

He exchanged gazes with the half-life, Rachet seeming to take some comfort from it, and Max slowly, reluctantly settled in for a wait while the dark-robed woman worked and the Citadel shook with fighting around them.

Death was already here, staying wouldn’t change things.

 

* * *

 

Attempts to enter the Citadel had been going on for hours, but at present there seemed to be a lull in the activity. Imperator Noxious on the ground had taken to using the breaks in the fighting to start yelling insults and demands up at Imperator Furiosa, posted at the skull mouth, who’d returned his insults and demanded their weapons be relinquished or be driven back to the wastes. Corpus could see movement from the war parties, just out of the sightlines of the skull, could see war boys maneuvering around.

“Well, Corpus? You can count the numbers just as well as I can, Lance’s men are guarding the key ground entrances and letting the war parties in. Somebody is already on the way to shoot Furiosa. It should be over soon now.” The Fixer turned the mechanical chair holding Immortan Joe’s son. “Do you have your speech ready? Are your men in place?”

“They have been,” Corpus said steadily, eyeing the thin man, flicking his eyes to where his claw-like hands were gripping his armrest. “And I don’t need to ready a speech.”

“Ah yes, your father always was quick with his words.” The Fixer said carelessly, “And your mother’s quite bright, isn’t she? Only right that their child step up to lead this place.”

Corpus held his tongue at that word choice. His body placed him in no position to do any stepping. He wondered at if Fixer expected himself to ‘step’ for him.

“And speaking of your mother, you’ve found out where her fighters are to be stationed?”

“Yeah,” Corpus trailed off, as he watched the trickle of war boys secretly filtering into the Citadel while the Imperators were still shouting their terms. It would only be a matter of time.

Furiosa’s voice on the intercom faltered, and cut off with a squeal of feedback.

“Well?” Fixer pressed, leaning in further, “Are you having second thoughts? You know this is the only way to maintain power, to secure our position. No one else would be able to hold the Citadel together so easily as you, you knowing what you do and your father having been who he was. You must challenge her quick, while she’s weak, while everyone’s watching. You and Stuffs.”

The son of Imperator Prime was standing slightly to the side and Corpus flicked his gaze over to meet Stuffs’ eyes.

Corpus knew the logic behind this, they being sons of the men previously in power, Corpus with the knowledge and Stuffs with control of the Citadel’s wealth, Corpus with a gun and Stuffs helping move him. ‘ _The new leader of the Citadel and his new Imperator Prime ushering in a new age where your worth wasn’t based on your ability to make War but on your ability to Contribute.’_ So said the Fixer.

But there was something flawed in all that, even if Corpus felt he could see it only dimly.

When he’d spoken to Stuffs after Fixer had left them that first meeting, Stuffs mentioned some of the words that the newly-named Tribunes have spoken at him. Strange words, dismantling the concept of ‘worth’ as a whole. That a person has worth for simply having survived.

Corpus took an uneasy breath. He remembered how, when the Tribunes had still been known as Wives, how they looked at him as if for help. How he looked away even though he knew such as the Soundless existed, how he held his tongue when Pa grew rough, how everything he did was so that his Pa might…. Might find him not such a waste of resources.

(how he’d done everything to survive)

“Don’t you want power, Corpus?”

Corpus pushed a hidden lever that spun the chair quickly, out of the Fixer’s grasp, and turned it to look at Stuffs. “Don’t we all want power?” Corpus asked with a rhetorical tone. The Imperator’s son looked back at him, eyes wide.

Power was safety, was ownership, was the ability to have a place where you sleep at night and can be assured that you’ll wake up the morning after. And Furiosa’s people seem to be getting overrun by the war party...

But all these past many days, all that Furiosa’s crew had been doing was running around _talking_ to people. Being merciful like they were strong enough to give that luxury. Giving the breeders locked doors, the injured war boys treatment and better spaces, bringing the Wretched in to be sheltered. He’d watched them watch Lance’s men, and no move was made other than having the war boys be pulled into conversations with one person or another, or pulled into storycircles with the pups. Corpus himself had initially set himself on the milking room hoping to secure advantage, but they’d left him alone in the days afterward. He would have thought himself forgotten except his men were being watched closely as well.

They were waiting to see if he would help or hinder, maybe. Or maybe just waiting for a good moment to attack. Get him out of the way.

Except he’d started wondering if he’d needed the advantage in the first place. Stuffs had quietly told him, when they were alone, how some milking mothers watched his place so that he could step away and finally start exploring. How he’d drifted by the altar for the first time and heard some stories that a breeder was telling there. How, when he’d went back to his post, they’d returned his space easily and spent some time chatting to him a bit about food distribution and spoilage.

 _I’d never felt so free,_ Stuffs had said. _I’d never felt so in control._

"You have to stand up for yourself and your legacy," Fixer said behind Corpus.

“Corpus,” Stuffs said slowly, “I’ll follow you.”

And Corpus quietly got out the hidden little gun from near his armrest, and nodded slowly.

“See, it’s like that,” Fixer said from even closer, right behind his chair, “people willing to follow you. I’m offering more power than the Immortan ever let you control, all of the Citadel at your command, and of course we’ll keep safe everyone you value.”

When Corpus turned his chair again, he was pointing the gun at Fixer, “I don’t think I want your power; you plan on controlling me with it. I think what you want from me will have everyone coming for my head.”

The Fixer backed up but found his arm engulfed in Stuffs’ large grip.

“Those I value? can keep themselves safe, mostly.” Corpus hummed as if in thought, “Except from you. Very few people can keep themselves safe from you.”

The Fixer started struggling wildly but he couldn’t budge against Stuff’s mass.

“Maybe only I can.” The last son of Immortan Joe nodded, “Alright then.”

The recoil of the gun jarred his arm hard, and Corpus found that both his wrist and his shoulder were in agony after. He was going to have to have Ma take a look at it, damn.

“Ugh,” Stuffs grimaced, and dropped the body, the back of its head blown out from the exploding round.

“Better find somebody to take him away.” Corpus grimaced and shifted his sore shoulder against his chair.

There was a sudden change in the noise outside, and Stuffs cut his eyes to the window, the sound of a shot reverberating against the towers.

Corpus maneuvered the chair back to the opening, placed his eye against one of his many telescopes. Imperator Noxious, who’d been yelling demands and insults into his speaker, suddenly went silent and keeled over, a bloody hole in the middle of his forehead. He watched as the flow of war boys going into the Citadel halted… and then reversed, white painted war boys spilling back out, pushed by figures colored grey.  His men, the winch men and brake men and Gatekeepers of the Citadel, being driven out of their corners by large plush milker bodies and by emaciated forms he’d recognized as Mill Rats, and tossed from the ledges.

He felt a pang of unease at letting his men fall without lifting a finger. Then again, from the way they'd been talking about the travesty of being denied access to the breeders, he didn't think there was any way they would ever have gotten behind the new regime.

There was a lone figure at the ground entrance, and he seemed to be converged on from every side.

“Think you chose right,” Stuffs said, coming up to join him, “Though your guards seem to be getting off’d.”

“Some of them were yours too, weren’t they.”

“Yeah.”

“Ever wonder sometimes what they were guarding?”

“They were there to protect us.” Stuffs said.

“From what though?” Corpus knew they were also the ones who’d brought Stuffs supplies from other places. The ones who pressed food onto him. The ones who’d kept Stuffs from moving from his post.

“People who try to take our things.”

“That ever actually happen?”

Being who they were, the only one who could honestly take anything away from them had been perhaps the Fixer. And his Pa. And the Gatekeepers were no help there.

"I think they were mostly there to protect Pa's interests."

“You think they stuck me there on _purpose_?” Stuffs said, shocked.

“I think we never had as much pull as they made us think we did.”

“...and now?”

“Now…” Corpus turned towards Stuffs finally, “Now we wait, for a chance to talk to those Tribunes.” He didn't know if Furiosa was still alive, but even if she weren't, the Tribunes would still be in charge.

“They seem to like talking, though I don’t think they think much of you.” Stuff scrunched up his face and glanced at the mess on the floor. “Think they’ll like us having the Fixer dead?”

“Couldn’t hurt.” Corpus replied. Maybe it would even make up - a little - for his men re-injuring Furiosa?

He sighed, heart beating hard and a little irregular with the tension. They were going to have to wait and see what the new regime would do with them.

“People of the New Citadel!” Furiosa’s voice cut in again, “Here is Tribune Capable to speak to you."

"Warboys," said a new voice, young and, somehow, friendly. "I see that you are thirsty. That you fear for your survival. You shouldn’t have to fear! We will turn on the water today at four-bells, and also two hours before and after the hottest part of the day."

Corpus did a quick mental calculation. Four bells would be soon.

"But _we_ shouldn’t have to fear either, we don’t know if you mean us further harm," the echoing voice continued reasonably. "You may camp at the base, and we will come down to speak. If somebody we trust can vouch for you, you’ll be able to come up and find a position in the New Citadel."

Down by the vehicles, warboys were already looking for vessels to catch the water.

 

* * *

 

"Boss, we've got it under control," Ace said.

Furiosa was still positioned at her window, rifle at the ready. The remaining warboys down there were holding whatever vessels they'd found, knowing it would be four-bells very soon.

"Come sit down."

She was hesitant to take her eyes off the war boys at the base. Somehow this had all seemed too easy.

She didn't notice the imploring look Ace threw at Janey, who'd just come in.

Janey wedged herself in at her side. "I'll take over, chick. You look like you need to be sitting a while."

"So do you," Furiosa said with a weak smile.

"I didn't have a knife in my gut ten days ago."

It was hard to argue with that. It all felt like much longer ago, but she was suddenly feeling it, the injuries and the exhaustion.She handed the SKS rifle off to Janey and let Ace help her to a bench. More people had started to come in, Mellie among them, passing around supplies and setting the room a bit to rights before sitting down with a sigh.

Furiosa felt at small metallic touch at her elbow and looked down, a canteen.

“Aqua cola,” Toast said quietly, while Dag was trying to press some squares of clean cloth into Toast’s other hand. Cheedo was helping wipe down rifles to the side.

"Any casualties? Deaths?" Furiosa asked the room in general.

"Some injured, don’t have numbers on it yet," Ace said, sitting down next to her. He looked tired himself, his breathing audible, and she remembered that his cracked ribs had barely begun healing. If she should take it easy, so should he. “Two deaths,” and at Furiosa’s sigh, he added, “both real sick already, got up from the ledges to help the defence.”

She nodded. Maybe she wasn't supposed to think that was a good death, but the boys had clearly wanted to go out helping.

"Rachet— does anybody know?" Max was with him, but anything could have happened since the moment they left for the infirmary, and even if they'd arrived okay, the idea of Max in the infirmary was… "Someone check."

"We'll go," Mellie said, nodding at another woman whose name Furiosa didn't know. "The nursery wasn’t touched, your crew stopped them long before they got anywhere near.”

“Wretched helped, I hear, Milkers too,” Ace added.

“Ahh,” Mellie blushed, “Some of the others maybe… I didn’t help much.”

"Helped keep the pups quiet and calm and safe," Ace said. "Helping's more than just fighting."

“You shouldn’t have to fight,” said Dag.

“And we only fight or kill when there’s no other choice.” Capable insisted. “You have choices now.”

Mellie nodded, and left.

The idea still sat uneasily with Furiosa, and she couldn’t help but think, _Others have a choice, maybe_. She needed to defend, to fight, that’s what she was good at, wasn’t it? If she wasn’t strong for them then what would happen...

Just then Kompass and Austeyr walked in, grey chalked skin instead of white paint and red-brown spatters on their skin. They looked grimly satisfied with themselves.

Furiosa met their eyes. _Handled?_

Kompass nodded, jaw hard. _Handled._ They'd rooted out all the traitors, then.

Capable made a noise of dismay and looked at their blood-stained hands. Held out a damp rag to them, but uneasily, as if she didn't want to get too close.

Austeyr nodded in thanks and wiped his hands, then passed the rag to Kompass. He became aware of the way the red-haired Tribune was still looking at him.

"What?"

"You're— you killed fellow warboys and you look pleased about it," she accused.

"We killed _traitors_ ," Austeyr corrected. "They would have killed all of you if they'd succeeded. Or done worse."

"Are we supposed to regret ending them?" Kompass said, voice dropping low and soft midway through, as if he remembered the last time he raised his voice to the Tribunes.

"Yes— _no_ , but I regret that it was needed," Capable stumbled.

"We spoke to all of them, gave them options," Austeyr shrugged. "They knew what they were throwing in with."

Capable’s jaw set as if she was promising herself to do better in the future, although Furiosa couldn’t figure out how the young woman expected to salvage such a thing as being attacked. But then again, wasn’t that why she’d wanted to step back?

A patchwork Council was forming in the room, apparently those who could pull themselves away to report. They did so slowly, raggedly tired but astonished. Repair bays had some damage, but fixable. The Mess Halls had been upended by Lance’s crew, but the food distro team had moved the food and cooking supplies higher up. Greenhouses remained far from the combat, and intact, The newly named Infirmary busy now that the fighting was over, but otherwise ignored and no one was quite sure if it’s some strange No Man’s Land or sacred ground or if the Soundless simply terrified everyone just that much.

Distantly, somebody rang the big bell on the Green four times.

Britt stepped up to pull the levers, opening the water at a third so as to create a slow stream down the rocks.  

As always, the water sounded like cheers to Furiosa, like song or music  or maybe that was just the sense-memory of it.

A young warboy ran in and looked around hesitantly. Recognised Kompass and looked relieved.

"The Blood sh— infirm- infirmary said to tell you.. 'Furiosa's boys are all right.' he quoted with a look of concentration. Kompass thanked him and sent him on his way.

But as Furiosa watched this all happen, feeling more and more quiet and distant, she couldn’t help but think, _This happened too fast_ , _too easily_.

Joe was dead, the Citadel was secured, her crew was around her; her _people_ were around her, vuvalini and sisters and freed women… so why did she feel so shaken loose and stumbling?

"We should all eat," Gale declared. "Bet ya'll haven't in a while."

"We have enough lizards to roast," Cookie spoke up. “And the mess in the mess is easy enough to set to right with enough hands.”

“That’s our cue, I think,” Ace grumbled as he got up and waved at the door. “Well? Food or not?”

Ace really knew how to put a crew to work, Furiosa thought as the room emptied.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find us on tumblr at [primarybufferpanel](http://primarybufferpanel.tumblr.com/%22) or [bonehandledknife](http://bonehandledknife.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Interesting watching: '[The road to peace](https://www.ted.com/playlists/22/the_road_to_peace)' TEDtalks playlist. 
> 
> Particularly: Fighting with nonviolence
> 
> "How do you deal with a bully without becoming a thug? [...]
> 
> Nelson Mandela went to jail believing in violence, and 27 years later he and his colleagues had slowly and carefully honed the skills, the incredible skills, that they needed to turn one of the most vicious governments the world has known into a democracy. And they did it in a total devotion to non-violence. They realized that using force against force doesn't work.
> 
> So what does work? Over time I've collected about a half-dozen methods that do work -- of course there are many more -- that do work and that are effective. And the first is that the change that has to take place has to take place here, inside me. It's my response, my attitude, to oppression that I've got control over, and that I can do something about.
> 
> [...] And my heroine here -- like Satish's -- is Aung San Suu Kyi in Burma. She was leading a group of students on a protest in the streets of Rangoon. They came around a corner faced with a row of machine guns. And she realized straight away that the soldiers with their fingers shaking on the triggers were more scared than the student protesters behind her. But she told the students to sit down. And she walked forward with such calm and such clarity and such total lack of fear that she could walk right up to the first gun, put her hand on it and lower it. And no one got killed.
> 
> So that's what the mastery of fear can do -- not only faced with machine guns, but if you meet a knife fight in the street. But we have to practice. So what about our fear? I have a little mantra. My fear grows fat on the energy I feed it. And if it grows very big it probably happens."


End file.
